


the one where they tell each other how they really feel

by assbuttsinlove



Category: Good Omens (TV)
Genre: First Kiss, Fluff, Love Confessions, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-06-23
Updated: 2019-06-23
Packaged: 2020-05-16 20:14:26
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,114
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/19325296
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/assbuttsinlove/pseuds/assbuttsinlove
Summary: exactly what it says on the tin. soft. fluffy. kisses. etc.





	the one where they tell each other how they really feel

**Author's Note:**

> my first attempt at writing good omens stuff. my first time writing in several years. bloop.

“I know what _you_ smell like,” Crowley grumbles. They’re sitting in Aziraphale’s bookshop discussing the end of the world.

Aziraphale blinks and he feels a soft heat rising in his cheeks. Humans call this blushing. He has always found it to be quite endearing. There are two things Aziraphale can now do. He can either tell Crowley about his new cologne (it only took him about ten years to notice) or…there was the other thing. The thing that poked and prodded at him every now and then. The question that always rose between them… _does he mean something more?_ The angel deliberates for a moment before choosing his next move.   

“What _do_ I smell like, Crowley?” he hears himself ask. The words hang between him and the demon, an invitation to cross a chasm that had once seemed too deep and not worth the risk to explore. It’s pure cheek and he knows it, but he simply cannot go on without hearing what Crowley has to say.

Crowley stares at him, his mouth pursed. “Uh…well, I mean…you smell like…uh…” his voice trails off. Crowley’s mind is spinning. He blinks rapidly knowing Aziraphale can very well still see his eyes despite the fact that he was wearing a very expensive pair of sunglasses and defaults to stuttering out something lame and uncool, just to fill the space. The look on Aziraphale’s face is one he has never seen before. 

“You’re lying to me,” Aziraphale states. There is no anger or confusion, it’s just a simple acceptance of the fact. 

“Yes, because I’m a demon and that’s what demons do,” Crowley snaps. At times like this, it is easier to retreat into these words. _It’s what’s expected of me._ They wrap themselves around him like a comfortable blanket, shielding him from any higher expectation.  

“Tell me the truth, Crowley,” Aziraphale says quietly. He maintains eye contact with the demon sitting across from him before shifting in his seat and leaning forward. Here they are surrounded by books, filled with thousands of words and stories and yet, they sit, two immortal beings with not enough words to share between them. 

“You smell like…bread, alright? Like freshly baked bread, right out of the oven.”

Aziraphale blinks in surprise, because, well, it actually surprises him. It’s no secret that Aziraphale has struggled greatly with the concept of their friendship over the years. The mere fact that he’s an angel and his best friend is a demon is enough to give him nightmares for the rest of his life. Most of the time, he’s able to tuck this guilt away into a remote corner of his mind, until they end up in a situation where they’re at a crossroads, much like today. Except, today, he finds himself searching for that familiar rush of feelings, the nausea that washes over him when he thinks about breaking the rules, about Crowley somehow getting hurt or blamed for what had been unfolding between them all these years, and those feelings, that guilt, it is nowhere to be found. Instead, he decides to egg Crowley on even further. He furrows his brows together and he chews on his bottom lip for a moment. “But you don’t even _like_ bread,” he says tilting his head slightly. 

Crowley scowls at him, a scowl that only he can muster. “Of course I like bread, angel. I love bread. It’s delicious, and soft, and it smells good.”

It takes Aziraphale a few moments to realize that Crowley isn’t actually talking about bread, rather, he’s talking about him, Aziraphale, the angel of the eastern gate. “Are you talking about bread or are you talking about _me_?” he asks.

“Of _course_ I’m talking about you, Aziraphale!” Crowley says in an exasperated voice. 

Aziraphale blushes, but he can’t hide the smile that has wormed its way onto his face. “You think I’m soft?” he asks with a quiet smile.

Crowley doesn’t say anything. He remains mired in a moody silence. Eventually he stands up and stretches his wiry limbs with a deep sigh. “And you smell good,” he grumbles.

Aziraphale gets up and slowly walks up to meet Crowley. “And what else?” he asks quietly. He reaches for Crowley’s hand and they thread their fingers together. With his other hand he reaches up and slowly removes Crowley’s sunglasses.

“And delicious,” Crowley says with a small smile.

Aziraphale positively beams at him and if anyone could see them, they would swear that there was a soft light glowing around the angel’s head. Humans call this a halo.

Crowley leans in and presses a soft kiss against Aziraphale’s lips. He can feel the angel sigh delicately as their bodies press together and Aziraphale tenderly kisses him back. Where Crowley is painted in large, expressive strokes, with lean limbs and ever-changing hair and outfits, Aziraphale is soft and contained, wearing the same familiar items day after day, appreciating and reveling in his little routines. They are two sides to the same coin, sworn enemies, and yet, between them exists a love so deep, there’s no word to describe it but ineffable. 

“That was quite lovely, Crowley,” Aziraphale says primly when they finally pull apart.

Crowley cocks an eyebrow and grins mischievously. “Well of course, did you expect it to be anything else besides lovely?”

“Wet,” Aziraphale answers immediately.

Crowley laughs, his eyes shining. “I can’t tell you how long I’ve waited to do that, angel,” he says softly. He leans forward and presses his forehead against Aziraphale’s before reaching up to cup his face gently in his hands.

“I think I can take a guess,” Aziraphale replies with a knowing smile. He pulls back and looks into Crowley’s eyes. The same eyes that had met him with shock and a begrudging admiration when they had first encountered each other all those years ago. “Six thousand years?” Aziraphale asks.  

“Give or take,” Crowley mumbles with a little laugh. He holds his breath, waiting to see what will happen next.

This time, Aziraphale is the one who leans in to catch Crowley’s lips in a kiss.

“Wet,” Crowley teases as they break away. 

“Oh shut it,” Aziraphale says with a little smile. He squeezes Crowley’s hand and they simply look at each other for a while, drinking each other in, while the reality of what just happened settled in their bones.

“Too fast?” Crowley murmurs. His eyebrow quirks up questioningly.

Aziraphale, at a loss for words, swallows thickly against a lump forming in his throat. He shakes his head. “No,” he says quietly. “Not at all.”

Crowley smiles at him, his heart swelling with love and leans in for another kiss.

**Author's Note:**

> if you enjoyed it, don't be shy. drop a line. let me know. comments make authors happy :0) xoxo


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